Luna scares me. She’s fucking hot – in a way that makes me think she’s too good to be true. She’s interesting and smart. And her beauty is comprehensive, beginning with her hair, ending with her toes, and encompassing everything in between. She is obnoxious and sarcastic and snarky. She’s high maintenance and her attitude is overwhelmingly entitled. She read my first post about her and had nothing but complaints about it. The post was (I think) hot, but, as with many of my erotic posts, my desire was… attenuated. It was a post about the setup of the date, the approach to my getting what I wanted. But my visceral desire was not present. I think somehow that’s often true, and with Luna, that desire scares me. It’s hard for me to articulate, scary to share. It makes me vulnerable. What if she doesn’t feel it?
Also? As well as I write about some things, I don’t do visceral desire particularly well. (Perhaps I should work on that.)
Her pouty lips seem permanently resistant to any attempt to un-pout them. Her natural elocution is a whine, complaining that she’s not getting enough attention. And she’s not.
The other night, I had the privilege of fucking her. Fucking her face, her pussy. Going down on her for hours. The evening was delicious and delightful and simultaneously an enormous treat for and assault on my ego.
Luna is sexually gifted and talented. The time she spent attending to my cock was unreal. My Gmail account now shows three pictures I took of her, my cock in her mouth, with her phone, in the “recent pictures” to the right of each message. (Thank GOD she sent them to me.)
Do you ever have the experience, when you’re with someone, thinking that it can’t possibly be happening? That this is somehow beyond you? That someone is out of your league? (I’ve been lucky enough to have this experience a number of times in my life. Including the most important ones.)
When Luna first started corresponding with me, it honestly didn’t seem realistically plausible to me that I might ever find my cock between her lips, find my hand gripping her throat as I slid my cock into her cunt.
None of that seemed possible – she’s too hot, too physically perfect. And, yet, the other night, I found myself in precisely this position: fucking her face, driving my cock into her pussy, using her for my pleasure, trying desperately to give her pleasure.
The complicated ego impact of bedding a woman so hot she makes me stupid, and proving inadequate to the task of satisfying her – at least in the unfortunately visible and over-valued way of producing an orgasm – left me reeling.
I struggle to communicate the hopes I have for Luna and me, the anxiety I feel in each moment with her, in which I worry that she’ll disappear, that I’ll disappoint her, that I’ll somehow fuck it up. (As I did with my previous post.)
One of the unfortunate aspects of dominance that this blog has at times allowed me to elide is that it requires simultaneously the pretense of confidence and the delivery of vulnerability. With Luna, I’m fully inhabiting both. I pretend to feel the confidence. I know what’s sexy, how to behave, once consent has been given – and I feel that confidence. But in the moments leading up to that consent, and at any moment in which I fear the consent may evaporate, it’s all an act. I worry, in every moment, that I will lose her, that she will turn to some other Tinder-fella, that my ardor will prove inadequate to retain her hungry self.
AND, I’m not one accustomed to failing to satisfy a woman. As I said in an unguarded and ungenerous – and unhelpful – moment to her, “I think you may be the first woman I’ve been with in twenty years not to have (or fake) an orgasm.” (I’m sure some former partner will read this and helpfully set me straight.)
In any event, Luna didn’t fake it. She didn’t have an orgasm.
That’s an assault on my ego, and it makes me feel vulnerable and incompetent and it makes me worry about my ability to retain her, when I know that she is capable of being satisfied by men other than me.
I wrote the other day about a woman whose recent experiences of men have left her unsatisfied, of my confidence I could satisfy her. Maybe I was arrogant. She was different from Luna. I know all the politically correct things to say, that sex is wonderful without orgasm, that goal-directed sex is an unfortunate construction, that women (and men) can enjoy themselves without orgasm. All these truisms are true. But they’re also “isms.” I know them. The bottom line is, in my experience, I failed.
And to fail with a woman so hot, so smart, so together – is, to me, disastrous. I need a second (and a third, and a fourth…) chance.
I construct what I would have and what I would do as a second chance. I’m subscribing to the insanity that dooms her – and me – to fail.
What I mean, and what I ought to say is not, “I’m committed to collecting an orgasm from her,” but rather, “I want to put her to use.”
And I plan to.